


did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?

by prosecutor_splorchie



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Swearing, gay people are dumb and sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:46:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28026492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosecutor_splorchie/pseuds/prosecutor_splorchie
Summary: Roger is murdered outside of Button House and now has to deal with nine idiot ghosts and his own feelings.a story for my Ghosts oc Roger because he is baby and i love him.title from Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd!!
Relationships: Thomas Thorne/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?

1976

The day was lovely. The sun bright, clouds fluffy, and birds happily chirping in the trees overhead. Roger let out a sigh of relief, glad that he decided to ride to Button House instead of staying cooped up in his stuffy dorm room. The fresh air and silence was a welcomed difference to the stresses and anxieties of daily life.

With sketchbook and pencil in hand, Roger sat down under the shade of a large tree and gazed up at the clouds. It was his favourite spot in the area surrounding the large manor, and he was glad the lady and lord had allowed him access to it. He continued to look at the clouds dotting the sky as he flipped through his sketchbook for a blank page, a soft smile gracing his features when he noticed one that resembled a small rabbit. With sudden motivation rushing through his body, he put his pencil to paper and got to work.

A small rabbit in a field - surrounded by mushrooms and flowers and a forest in the background.

Roger had only just finished sketching the rabbit and a few mushrooms before he heard distant footsteps. He thought it might’ve been the lord or lady of the manor - after all, he wouldn’t know of anyone else who knew he came here - but as he put down his pencil and turned around to face the footsteps approaching him, he felt his whole world freeze.

A group of kids from his college campus. He knew them well, but he very much wished he didn’t. Questions fogged up Roger’s panicking mind - had they followed him? How long were they following him? Could he not get one day of peace?

Roger watched the group approach him, eyes wide with fear. He knew it was obvious he was terrified, that it wouldn’t help the situation if any one of the pricks saw his fear, but he was too shocked to be paying attention to the emotions he conveyed. All he could manage to do was watch them crowd around his spot under the tree, looming over him with smug smirks and evil eyes.

“Look who it is! Little Miss Flamer,” one of the boys sneered, encouraged by the snickering of his group. Roger’s eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“What...are you doing here?” He asked, voice small and barely audible. He felt pathetic.

“Enjoying your little frolic in the field, ay? Prancin’ around like the little sissy you are?”

Roger looked down to try to hide the tears blurring his vision. His eyes trailing over the pale yellow dress hugging his body. They weren’t supposed to see him in this. They weren’t supposed to know. How could he be this reckless and stupid?

“Look, he’s crying!” Another exclaimed, pointing at Roger as laughter echoed across the lawn.

They all continued to laugh and mock at the ginger, watching as the college student began to pack up his things and stumble onto his feet. Roger wasn’t thinking, not sure he could at the moment. He just wanted to get away from the group of uninvited bullies.

One of the bullies reached forward and grabbed a fistful of Roger’s soft dress, causing the ginger to let out a shriek and drop his sketchbook and pencil case in amidst his panic.

“Where do you think you’re going, fag?” He spat, voice filled with venom. His face was so close Roger could feel the tingle of breath on his face. Roger felt as if he couldn’t breathe, his throat burning from his hyperventilating. How badly he wished he could control his body at that moment.

The man holding Roger threw him to the ground, the others standing above him. Roger couldn’t move, panic and the pain he felt in his back rooting him to the spot.

All it took was one punch, and it was too late.

The group began punching, kicking, beating Roger with any means, and all he could do was curl up in a ball, sob, and accept his fate. Every inch of him burned, ached.

All he wanted was a relaxing day to himself, but here he was. Sobbing and screaming in the grass as a group of manic homophobes beat him to a pulp.

It was a particularly forceful punch to his head that caused everything to go fuzzy, for life to start draining from his eyes and feeling to escape his fingertips. His sobbing slowed, body so weak he could barely even muster a breath. With all his strength, his gaze fell onto the open sketchbook lying next to him. The small rabbit peered innocently up at the world, tiny and pure. It was the last thing he thought of as he took his final breath and left the living world.

\---

“What the fuck did you do?!”

“What do you mean ‘what did I do?! You’re the one who killed him!”

“Who gives a shit, we need to get out of here!”

Roger opened his eyes, frantically looking around. He was dead, wasn’t he? He just died. They had beaten him to death - why was he still here?

The ginger sat up, his breathing picking up like before as he looked around like a frightened bird. He watched the bullies jump onto their bikes and ride off towards the path out of Button House, eyes wide with confusion.

He couldn’t feel any pain. Why couldn’t he feel any pain? In fact, he couldn’t feel anything. Everything was… empty? Why did he feel empty?

Roger ran a hand through his hair and tried to calm himself down, but his panicking only grew worse when he looked down and saw his own dead body. He screeched and crawled away from it, the sensation of crying overcoming him - but he wasn’t shedding any tears. What the fuck was going on?!

His back hit something solid, which made him jump. He turned around, and what he saw made him feel even more insane than he already felt he was.

“Oh, I’m so glad they’re staying! A new friend!”

“I’d rather not make friends with that!”

“Maybe insulting him when he first gets here isn’t the best thing?”

A group of people, all wearing rather elaborate clothes - costumes? - from different eras stared down at Roger, each one scaring him even more. A caveman, a WWII soldier - was one of them burnt? He screeched again, frantically getting up off the ground and turning to run away. He heard one of them scream back and then laugh.

“He say word to me!”

“Robin, he screamed.”

Roger ran and ran, not allowing himself to think of the situation or the people he had just come face to face with. Maybe this entire day was just some horrible dream, and he’d wake up safe in his dorm room? It certainly felt like one.

He saw the main road ahead of him, picking up his pace to get out faster. He sprinted towards the exit, cursing himself for forgetting his bike amidst his panic to get away.

He reached the road and ran out onto it, but when he looked up again he was facing the dirt path leading into the manor. Roger looked around, confused and scared. He turned back around and tried to run out onto the road, but again he was sent back the way he came. He tried again, and again, and again until he collapsed to the ground. He just wanted to wake up, let this dream be over. He was scared and confused and he was sure he’d have a splitting headache if he could feel anything.

Roger sat at the entrance to Button House, sobbing violently. If only he could just wake up. He just wanted this to be over.


End file.
